


One Cup of Tea

by zanoranna (rei_c)



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Difficult Decisions, Everything Hurts, M/M, Tea, Transfer Window
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-28
Updated: 2010-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:40:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23247892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rei_c/pseuds/zanoranna
Summary: When things are no longer loose and easy, there's always a cup of tea to soothe the way.
Relationships: luka modric/niko kranjcar





	One Cup of Tea

**Author's Note:**

> A semi "Five Things" fic written after today's Tottenham v. Liverpool match.

Niko dresses and sits on the bench, like he has for every game this season, with no expectation that he’ll actually end up on the pitch. He watches his team, of course; feels his chances of getting subbed in go down when Rafa pulls up injured, knows he isn’t going to play once Kaboul comes out. 

He keeps his eyes on Luka but he watches the Reds as well, and wonders just what the hell Liverpool needs and where to get better. Leiva doesn’t get a lot of credit in midfield but he’s good, _really_ good. So many people have said Niko might go to Liverpool in January and his agent’s working on a deal, it’s true; still, there’s no guarantee he’d get any playing time there, either.

Niko can’t help letting his mind wander, imagining playing, being out there for Spurs or for Liverpool, but his attention goes back to Luka. His attention _always_ goes back to Luka. 

And then Luka scores. 

.

Luka looks exhausted when he finally comes through the door. Three months ago, Niko would have felt a momentary flash of bitterness, an even longer period of anger, but resignation has sunk in deep and Luka did play an amazing game today against the Reds. 

“Hey,” Niko says, standing up and going over to Luka, taking Luka’s bag and leading him towards the kitchen table. “Tea?”

“Thanks,” Luka says. 

Niko ruffles Luka’s hair, goes and puts the kettle on. “The commentators said you were out there pulling all the strings in midfield,” Niko says, taking down a mug and pulling a box of PG Tips out of the cabinet. “The cleverest, canniest player on the pitch.” There’s no response; Niko turns around, sees Luka asleep, face pillowed by his arms on the table. 

Luka’s going to have a sore neck if he stays like that but Niko doesn’t have the heart to wake him. Instead, he turns the kettle off and puts a blanket over Luka’s shoulders, bending down to place a kiss on Luka’s hair. 

.

His agent texts him later, as Niko’s sitting in front of the computer, checking to see what else people have said about Luka after the game. It’s something of a habit for him now; no one’s talking about Niko and he always likes to know what people are saying about Luka’s form before the words come back to Luka. 

_Talks going well w/ LFC tho approached by EFC in case deal w/ LAG falls thru. Thoughts?_

“That your mum?” Luka asks, walking into the room rubbing his eyes, a line from his shirt sleep-pressed into one cheek. “Did she watch the game?” 

“She said you played brilliantly,” Niko says. His mum texted almost an hour ago, right after the game. “Though you’re getting too thin for her taste. She said you should visit us over over Christmas so she can fatten you up.”

Luka laughs, collapses onto the settee. “Think Redknapp would kill me if I came back out of shape,” he says. “I’ll never forget the talking to I got after the last international break.” 

Niko smiles but the expression doesn’t reach his eyes. Redknapp pulled Luka aside, as well as Gareth and Rafa, but didn’t bother with anyone else. It’s more than clear who their manager values the most. “Well,” Niko finally says. “We’ll put my mum against Redknapp. Bet my mum wins.” 

“Your mum would always win against anyone and everyone,” Luka says. “Did you put the kettle on earlier? I’m sorry; I never meant to fall asleep.” 

“You needed it,” Niko says, softly. He gets up, runs his fingers through Luka’s hair as he passes by, saying, “I’ll get you your tea now.” 

Luka frowns, leans back and calls out, “You don’t -- Niko, you.”

Even from the kitchen, Niko can hear Luka’s sigh. 

.

Luka goes to bed first. He’s always the first one that heads for the bedroom, has been sleeping more and more, lately. Niko is worried but Luka is stunning on the pitch, leads practice with ruthless efficiency, and no matter how many times Niko asks, Luka always says that everything is fine. 

Sometimes, Niko thinks, it was easier when they were both playing, both sidelined. Niko doesn’t begrudge Luka his season in the spotlight, especially when it means that Spurs are winning in Europe and at home, but it can be difficult, only one of them playing. 

When the glow of the computer becomes the only light, Niko finally texts his agent back. 

_Prefer LFC but can’t hurt 2 talk 2 them._

Leaving all of his options open, that’s the best thing Niko can do right now. He wants to play. The longer he sits on the bench at White Hart Lane, the more he thinks that it really doesn’t matter where he goes, just as long as he gets to play. 

.

January comes and goes. Niko is wearing red now, and he starts more weeks than not. Liverpool’s not at the top of the table but they’re leapfrogging City and Spurs every week, it seems, for fourth. It’s going to be close and by the end of the season, every game matters, every point is worth scrambling for, every goal might make a difference by the time the final table is set. 

They play Spurs in May. Niko has been dreading the fixture since he packed up and left Luka in London, moving up to Liverpool by himself. 

In the end, Luka shows up the night before the game, standing on the other side of the front door when Niko opens it. 

“What’re,” Niko starts to say, but words fail him, staring at Luka, eyes going over inch of Luka’s face, taking in the hollows under his eyes, the pronounced cheekbones, the way it looks as if he’s burning out and turning hollow, empty. 

“I thought,” Luka says. He licks his lips, takes a step back. 

Niko jerks forward, one hand reaching out. Luka stops and Niko gives him a small smile, says, “Can I get you a cup of tea?” 

Luka returns the smile, just as slight, just as fragile. “I don’t need one, really.” 

“Would you.” Niko stops, stares helplessly. He’s seen every game Luka’s played, scoured every word that the pundits have said, every word they’ve written, and watched Luka during international breaks. They should have talked by now but there’s so much between them, so much left unsaid, and the quick turnarounds with the national team aren’t the time to address everything. 

This isn’t the time, either, the night before the game that might determine who’s playing Champions League football next year. 

Still, Niko steps back and, even as the light in Luka’s eyes is fading just that little bit more, Niko holds the door open, says, “I was just getting ready to put the kettle on, actually. It wouldn’t. I mean, if you wanted, you could.” 

“I’d like that,” Luka says, carefully. His smile comes back, just a little, and he squeezes past Niko, dropping his bag just inside the door. 

Niko closes the front door and heads for the kitchen. Luka follows slowly -- but he does follow.


End file.
